


Who Needs a Guy?

by fullborn



Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Found Family Dynamics, M/M, POV Alternating, relatable mood when you realise you love your business partner as a life partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 03:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18327578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullborn/pseuds/fullborn
Summary: Remember when 4x06 aired and we thought Haley was going to come out and no one was going to die? And everyone would learn to be happy and cherish each other? This is that.





	Who Needs a Guy?

**Author's Note:**

> My love for this show is an infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing -- the ending of season four is one of the best meditations on grief, love and loss and while I don't want to negate that beauty, it also makes me incredibly sad. So, revisionism it is!
> 
> AKA Gordon survives and all that comes after.

 

Donna sings and his world nearly caves in upon itself. 

She’s there, young and so vibrant it feels like his heart just might burst alongside his head. It’s funny, he always thought death was an encroaching darkness, a draining of sight and feeling but instead there’s so much _light_ ; it flares out from her and the pain crests gloriously behind his eyes. She sings and it’s like dying. 

It’s wonderful how little he has to do. He knows his eyes are closed but the brightness pervades everything and he thinks he hears a faint voice telling him to _f_ _ollow the light,_ except he swears it’s Joanie judging by the sarcasm lacing the unhelpful instruction. And really, what does that even mean when there’s so much light searing his vision that it blanks out all thought? 

If he is dying surely there’s more to it than a terrible cliché. Gordon feels his body stretched out on the floor and his heart trembling in his chest under the comfort of the lullaby. When the darkness finally comes, it’s a relief. 

 

*** 

 

It’s only because of his longer legs that Joe reaches the information desk before Donna, and his voice betrays him as he latches onto a doctor, any doctor, with questions to quell that rising fear she feels in her own chest. Donna doesn’t think she could speak if she wanted to; there is a lump, lodged high in her throat like a trapped music note, and she chokes on it as the doctor says, _Stroke. He’s had a stroke. But he’s alive, for now._ She wants to let it out, the perfect impossible high note so clear and lucid it could shatter glass. But only glass. Her heart is made of tougher stuff.  

 

***

 

It’s a sign of how worried they all are about Gordon that they last four whole hours in each other’s company without any sign of argument. It’s a strange sort of ceasefire, the natural flow of anger and hurt short-circuited by this hospital waiting room so that Cameron can look at Donna and feel nothing but sorrow and regret. If this is what it takes to bring them all together… _Jesus_ , Gordon. 

They make an odd sight, four adults and two teenagers locked in their own fear: Haley sobs intermittently while her sister leans against their mother’s shoulder; Donna strokes her eldest’s hair, rubbing soothing patterns with her free hand on Haley’s shaking back. It makes her think of the last time she met Donna in a hospital ( _I don't know what you're doing, but stay out of my business and stay out of my life_ ) — yet here they are again. Tied together in mutual worry.

Joe hasn’t stopped pacing. Cameron wants to tell him to sit down but the only free seat is next to Katie. It’s weird to be jealous of this woman but at least she got to do something, she got to save Gordon’s life while the rest of them have done nothing but sit here and shoot the breeze.

It’s a miracle, then, that Bos and Diane arrive when they do. Bless Bos: he takes one look at their wan and tired faces and offers to buy them all breakfast at the 24 hour diner across the road. ‘These things always feel worse on an empty stomach, and y’all ain’t doing much good here,’ he says, a good old southern hero and Cameron seizes the opportunity like a lifebelt. She _hates_ hospitals. 

‘I’m not leaving,’ Joe says as if they’re asking him to go shopping for Gordon’s tombstone while the man’s still breathing in the next room over. 

‘Starving yourself isn’t going to wake him up,’ Cameron says as the others make their exodus. ‘Haley needs you. The girls need you.’ He looks blankly back at her like she’s morphed into a total stranger. Then Bos’ hand is on her arm and he is pulling her away towards the exit. ‘You leave him be if that’s what he needs,’ he says. ‘Come now, let’s get some eggs n’ bacon into you.’

 

***

 

Something Haley says sets them off laughing, hysteria bubbling up and out in the weird timeless space of the diner. Tears of laughter mixing with the real deal. The server looks like she’s seen stranger things on a 5am shift, brings them a free pitcher of vanilla milkshake and Joanie sips it straight from the jug without rebuke. Her milky moustache sets them off again, and in the unmoored feeling of it Cameron reaches out and takes Donna’s hand. _I’m sorry_ , says the gesture, and Donna accepts it red-eyed, lip beginning to tremble — and then Joanie burps, and they’re howling again at the helpless comedy of it all. Donna’s hand tight on Cameron’s own. 

 

***

 

It’s seems like there’s no escape from blinding white light; when Gordon finally cracks open his eyes the first thought in his head is that somehow he _did_ follow the light and now he’s floating in it like a baby near to being born. The Holland Tunnel, proverbial light at the end of. Then the focus shifts and he’s staring up at the strip of fluorescents on what is unmistakably a cork-tiled hospital ceiling, no music to be heard beyond the steady beep and hiss of machinery. 

Joe is there, of course. 

He’s hunched, face clawed and grey with lack of sleep and a five-o’clock-shadow and worse then he’s ever seen him. Gordon tries to say, _‘Well, who died?’_ but the words come out as a kind of unintelligible mumble and then Joe’s eyes are on him, intense and earnest like in the garage all those years ago except this time Gordon has performed the most basic kind of miracle. 

‘Gordon,’ he says, voice choked, leans forward to grip Gordon’s hand as if to make sure that he’s solid flesh. It’s only then, looking down at his own hand gripped in Joe’s large palm that Gordon realises that he can’t return the gesture; logically he knows how, but it’s like peering down the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. Distorted. He wishes someone would turn off the fucking lights. 

 

***

 

_Not much time left._ It upsets her to see how painstaking it is for him to write these few words, his right hand trembling over the A4 pad he had insisted on despite the doctor’s warnings. Cameron bites her lip as she reads the shaky message, imaging Joanie and Haley and Donna as she says, ‘Don’t be stupid. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to get out of here and go home and fucking live, you idiot; you’ll have plenty of time to be a total drama queen later.’ This is the closest she can get to telling him how much they love him.

He makes a noise in his throat and for a moment his face is creased as if in pain — until she realises that he is doing his best approximation of laughter: he’s _laughing at her_. ‘Oh my God,’ she hisses as realisation hits her and she waves the paper in his face. ‘Not much _visiting time_ left, is that what you were trying to… you asshole!’ It’s worth the embarrassment to see that he can still be a total dick, even now. ‘If you tell anyone about this, Gordon, I swear to God!’ 

The threat of death rings a bit hollow, seeing as he’s faced right into it not twenty-four hours ago and lived to tell the tale, but that makes her laugh all the more as she goes out to send Donna and the girls back in for the remaining visiting time. She shrugs away the funny looks they give her; they’ll have plenty of time to see the funny side, later.

 

***

 

‘Wait, what’s the difference between a hemorrhagic stroke and an ischemic stroke?’ asks Donna. It sounds like the setup to a very unfunny joke, and across the room Gordon snorts while she tries to listen to the doctor’s explanation. It’s a blessing that his cognition and speech are intact, they keep saying, but as they circle back to the same old argument Donna finds herself wishing for the reappearance of unconscious Gordon. Which is awful to admit but a nice callback to normality all the same.

She sighs and says, ‘The doctors said that having the proper support can really effect recovery.’ Measured and logical.

‘I’d rather amputate both my legs than have you quit your job to look after me,’ Gordon answers, infuriatingly stoic. And if it’s a struggle for him to speak it only gives him a greater advantage. ‘No offence, Donna, but we’re not even married anymore.’

‘I know that,’ Donna says, feeling her face flush. ‘But we’re still family.’

He tilts his head to really look at her. ‘We are. But I don’t want you to throw away your work.’ His beard is coming back in; she really must bring a razor for him — that, along with the old glasses folded on the bedside table cement the whole ‘scene from their marriage’ thing, of times gone by. He pauses, then says, ‘Joe said he’ll help. Stick around, that is.’

She looks at her ex-husband, propped up in bed without the neurological know-how to move his left arm and leg but still miraculously in control of all his hard-headed qualities, and sighs. When has Joe ever stuck around when things went up in flames?

 

***

 

Cameron knows she’s a coward because sneaking a ham radio into a rehabilitation centre and then fleeing the scene is not the hallmark of any heroic characters she can think of — it would make a really shitty video game with a niche audience, for starters. She’s a coward: things are easier over the radio-waves.

She picks up the mic and listens to the hiss of static. ‘CQ, CQ…earth to Gordo. CQ, CQ.’

There’s a pause. ‘ _Cameron?’_ Gordon’s voice sounds scratchy and off, but it’s him. A pit opens up in her stomach as she thinks of the scenario where the ham sits in his house, unused and silent, and she frowns to steady her imagination. 

‘I see you guys have a squash court,’ she says, ‘How’re you doing? _Over._ ’

_‘Wow, Cam on the ham. I can’t believe you remembered this old thing. Didn’t see you drop by, over.’_

‘Yeah sorry, old people kind of freak me out. I still bumped into this lady on the way out and she made a bunch of scary noises and I wanted to help but might have…run away instead? Awful, I know. _Over_.’

_‘You’re an actual child. That’s Mrs. Gilchrist, she’s genuinely scary so I guess you get a free pass. But that’s not scarier than learning to walk with a bunch of eighty year olds. The worst thing is they’re better at it than I am, over.’_

‘You’re a brave man. Over.’

_‘Well you knew that already. Where’d you get your ham from, over.’_

‘I raided Radio Shack and your junk boxes for parts. I figured it’d be nice, if Haley or Joanie want to talk or whatever, over.’

There’s a pause. _‘That’s —you’re at…Donna’s house? Over.’_

‘I had dinner with her and the girls this evening, so that was good. Uh, we’ve kind of reconnected, I guess? Everything just seemed kind of petty, after, you know…I miss her.’ 

_‘Wow. Cam, that’s really…surprisingly mature of you. I mean, that’s great! Over.’_

‘Fuck you too, Gordon. We haven’t talked much, but I think she appreciates having someone check in on her since you’ve been taking up so much thunder. You, uh, know you’re one of my best friends, right? Over.’

_‘…Yeah. Right back at you. Over.’_

‘I was thinking that I never actually said that to you before, but you are. I don’t have a lot of people I’m close to — don’t laugh — and then that made me realise that Donna’s one of my best friends despite everything that happened. I don’t want to lose either of you. Over.’

_‘Hey. Cam. You don’t have to. That’s really brave of you, reaching out to Donna.’_ There’s a pause; she thinks the connection has gone on the fritz until then he continues, thoughtfully, _‘I know you’re just getting used to being in each other’s company right now but you guys need to talk, eventually. What you two had was special, and some of it’s still there but you’re going to need to put in the work to make it like it was. If that’s what you want. Over.’_

‘Gordon Clark, relationship guru, coming to you on the F.M. No, I mean, you’re right. But I want to put in the work this time and I think she does too. Over.’

_‘Is it weird if I say I’m proud of you? I’m proud. And now you’ve thrown up thanks to that saccharine embarrassment, I’m going to have to sign off because I can’t keep my eyes open any more. Send the girls my love, okay? And…you’re a good friend, Cam. Over and out.’_

‘Over and out,’ she repeats, and puts the mic back on its cradle. A lump in her throat. She rolls to the computer and flips on the monitor to continue working but her brain is buzzing with Gordon’s advice, the warmth in his voice travelling miles to give her the nerve to try and pick up the threads of her severed relationship with Donna —and that’s all nice in practice but then Donna sticks her head around the door and Cameron’s heart does a backflip. 

‘Hey Cam, what are you doing?’ says Donna. Her red hair is pulled back and she looks tired, but not as tired as she did that first night in the hospital. ‘Haley and Joanie are going to put on a movie if you want to sit with us.’ 

‘Cool,’ Cameron says, focusing on the screen so as to not betray her roiling emotions _(you guys need to talk, eventually)_ ‘I’m just finishing up a few things on this game for Gordon.’

Donna picks a stray hair from her mouth, asks, ‘For Gordon?’

This is easier to talk about; Cameron can do easy. ‘Yeah, so, all the controls are on the left side of the keyboard, to build up muscle memory for his bad hand — and they change with each level. It’s just some dude wandering around trying to collect random shit and there’s a bunch of stupid references in there, some Mario type stuff, but it’s kind of fun…’ She trails off, aware that Donna is looking at her with a kind of slack expression.

‘Oh, _Cam_ ,’ she says, and Cameron’s horrified to see that there are tears in her eyes but then Donna blinks and they disappear, leaving an expression that can only be described as terribly fond. None of the apologies Cameron had in mind had any hope of making Donna look at her like that; she decides that she’ll take this as the start of something. They’ll talk. Eventually. But not tonight. 

 

***

 

He’s still bed-bound when Haley says, very quietly, ‘Dad, I’ve been thinking,’ and he knows this is it as he reaches out his good hand towards this daughter he loves — how stupid it would have been, for their last words to be in anger — and Haley climbs up onto the bed and nestles against his chest like she did when she was younger. His heartbeat under her ear.

‘Yeah, bug?’ he says, stroking her cropped hair, and maybe it’s easier for her in this close proximity without the need for eye contact, because when she says, ‘So, I’m gay,’ it sounds confident, truth resonating against his ribcage. 

‘And I love you,’ he replies. ‘So, so much — you know that right?’ She cries a wet patch in his shirt and they both fall asleep on his uncomfortable adjustable bed, and that is where Donna finds them an hour later. 

 

***

 

‘Joe’s trying to project-manage my learning how to walk,’ says Gordon and Katie laughs, a little strained. 

‘I’ve got a job,’ she says, ‘In Seattle,’ and Gordon says _Oh,_ because there’s really nothing else to say. He must look upset — even though in actuality he’s trying to maintain his grip on the parallel bars so as to stay upright — because she launches right into it. ‘One of my friends brought it up, _before_ , and I didn’t think much about it but now…’ She swallows. ‘Comet’s not really the same without you. I realised that you're my only friend here? Like I know people and we’re “friends”, but I don’t have anyone else I’m close to. And you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.’

‘Hey,’ Gordon says, and he knows his smile is lopsided but who knows, maybe it’s endearing. ‘It’s okay. I get it, you can’t just sit still and wait to be happy. Now, ideally this would be where I try and hug you but I think I just might fall on you instead — oh, okay, that works.’ She has leant in and wrapped her arms around him where he stands. He rests his head on her shoulder and breathes in her strawberry-scented shampoo. ‘Thanks for saving my life,’ he whispers. ‘You’re going to do great.’

Katie lets out a hiccupy cough and ducks out from his arm to look him square in the face. Her eyes are bright with tears but she smiles at him as she kisses him on the cheek, says, ‘So are you.’

 

***

 

Joanie takes a picture of him a few weeks later, fumbling step-by-step with the help of his physical therapist. ‘One giant leap for mankind,’ she deadpans, waving the developed print at him. ‘I think I might do wildlife photography, capture shit like this in the great unknown.’ 

‘Like, baby zebras?’ he says. It’s sad that he feels jealous of said baby zebras, running around on all four legs mere minutes after being born when he can barely walk from his bed to the toilet without help. ‘Still no college, huh.’

She remains a hard-ass but the past few months have chipped a crack in her facade. Joanie shrugs, playing it cool, says, ‘Maybe. In a year. I don’t think mom’ll complain about having me around, since, y’know, you nearly died.’

‘Just don’t do _nothing_ ,’ he says, and a spark lights her kohl-rimmed eyes. ‘You should do something, like go to Japan or whatever it is you really want to do. Don’t stick around just for us.’

‘You’re telling mom!’ she says, and her grin is broad and genuine. It makes his heart grow three sizes, to see her excitement. 

‘I _nearly died,_ Joanie; your mom might just finish me off.’

‘Nice try,’ she says, and practically skips out of the room with her camera bouncing on her chest.

 

***

 

Joe puts in the hours at Comet, if only due to the strength of Gordon’ hard stare, and as the weeks stretch out his existence settles into a split routine between the office and the rehabilitation centre. He goes home only to sleep and eat, and at some point during this he and Cameron look long and hard at each other and they both know that it’s over. 

It’s mutual: she understands where it is he has to be right now. She has Donna, and he has Gordon. And he can’t bear to force her to adapt to yet another version of Joe MacMillan, one intent on channelling his grief for every friend buried over the past ten years by becoming what circumstance needs be for his last and best friend. Continual atonement. He knew what death was and yet he spent three years in a basement while Gordon went at it alone; now it’s his time to make up for it. 

_The thing that gets us to the thing_. He had told Cameron it had always been her, and that had been true as he said it and it is still true now. But it strikes him, stepping out of his empty apartment and into his car, that with every new thing — even more present than Cameron, for all he tried to pull her back into his orbit — there had always been Gordon. Reliable, brilliant, steady: his constant partner even after everything they had done to each other over the years. 

Was it possible the thing could have more than one meaning?

 

***

 

Gordon gets discharged in June and asks Joe to drive him home. The California sun glazes the windshield of the truck and warms the air blowing through the open windows; he has his head half-in, half-out of the cab, wind ruffling his hair. It’s good. He thinks Joe is humming under his breath but it’s hard to tell, and he doesn’t want to ask and have him stop. 

When they arrive the prospect of getting into his house without making a spectacle for the neighbours is less inviting. ‘Come on Gordon,’ says Joe, no-bullshit voice rising up out of the Cardiff days, ‘Either you get in the wheelchair and we use the ramps I had installed for this very purpose, or I carry you inside like a kid. What’s it going to be?’ 

‘Fuck,’ says Gordon as he steps out of the cab and his bad leg buckles. Joe is at his side before he has time to stagger, hand gripping his arm and a murderous expression on his face. ‘Okay, okay, wheelchair,’ concedes Gordon and he lets Joe push him into his home. It’s a bit dusty, and he stares at the patch of floor between his room and the kitchen for a few long seconds before Joe catches on and pushes him through into the sitting room.

‘Sofa?’ Joe asks, and gives Gordon his arm. It’s embarrassing, how laboured such a simple task has become but Joe takes it in his stride, letting Gordon do the work without any of Donna’s anxious hovering. Things like this remind him that Joe did his own bout of recovering, as a kid no less and the thought of Joe — even younger than Haley is now — bed bound with just his distant father for company makes Gordon kind of sick. ‘Star Trek?’ says Joe, grinning with the corners of his mouth in that way of his, oblivious to Gordon’s depressing train of thought as he holds up a stack of video tapes. 

This is how Joe moves into his house, armed with a backlog of films and an unbendable bedside manner; a natural enough progression from this to taking over the spare room filled with old exercise equipment. After two weeks they’re officially living with each other, Joe acting as some sort of hybrid between amateur nurse, personal assistant, and freakishly neat tenant. Gordon doesn’t think to argue, and besides, if he did it wouldn’t do him any good. 

 

***

 

He honestly thought the commercial was a good idea, that it would be cathartic, a good way to capture the feeling from the past few months before the relaunch but then Haley storms out crying and Joe knows he’s made a terrible mistake. A parenting stand-in for Gordon and yet he’s already fucking up like a natural. 

‘Hey, Haley…I’m sorry,’ he says, hands up while she angrily wipes the tears from her eyes. ‘I should have thought how it would make you feel, seeing your dad like he was.’

‘He’s never going to be the same, is he?’ she sniffs. He puts out a hand, unsure, and then she is hugging him tightly while her breath still hitches with the occasional sob. ‘Like, it’s all changed. He can barely walk.’

Joe MacMillan is a creature of change, shedding his skin moment by moment. ‘Your dad’s stubborn,’ he says. ‘Like some other people I know. Different isn’t the end of the world, it’s going to be different but okay. I promise.’ Like when he promised to drive away the storm all those years ago: it’s her belief that really matters. 

 

***

 

When Comet finally passes out of their orbit and takes Rover with it, things change again. The end opens up all over again. 

‘And what the fuck kind of name is Yahoo?’ cries Gordon, so indignant that Haley starts giggling even though he’s said this twice in the past minute. Donna and Haley are dropping around a stack of tupperware filled with chicken marbella leftovers, a _flying visit_ but they’ve been waylaid by shared disgruntlement. ‘I mean, come on!’

‘Gordon, _language_ ,’ says Donna but she herself is close to hysterical. ‘And it’s Yah _oo!_ Yahooo!’ 

Cameron walks in holding a rice container positively goggling with concern. ‘What the fuck is a Yahoo?’ she asks, looking ready to call social services, right as Gordon exclaims, ‘ _Exactly!_ ’ with righteous vindication that comes across closer to mania. 

‘Yahoos are savage human-like creatures created as a means of satire by Jonathan Swift in _Gulliver’s Travels_ ,’ says Joe mildly, appearing out of nowhere with his headphones looped around his neck. Gordon’s barely seen him since they found the browser but he doesn’t seem too upset. ‘Why they’ve chosen that name, I have no idea.’

Haley is choking on her laughter as Cameron and Donna lead her towards the door, chicken delivered and humour ebbing. ‘Well, thanks for the leftovers,’ says Gordon, saluting with the box of rice while Joe leans on the counter like a model-home salesman.

Donna beams. ‘Yeah, it’s really good stuff…Cameron made it.’

Gordon waits until after the front door is shut before clawing both hands over his face in utter confusion. He turns to Joe, lowering his palms slowly, and asks with the voice of man in deep despair, ‘What the _fuck_ is going on?’

Joe shrugs.

 

***

 

What’s going on is that Cameron turns down a trip to Europe (Paris!) in favour of helping Joanie pack for Thailand. Donna has never been much of a crier but it’s like a switch has been flipped in her tear ducts since the scare of Gordon’s stroke, and the sight of her daughter and her old partner stacking piles of t-shirts in Gordon’s old suitcase is too much for her heart to handle. She also can’t handle how terrible they both are at folding things. 

‘Let me,’ she says, pulling a band shirt emblazoned with a skull out of Cameron’s mangling hands. She folds the shirt against her chest as Cameron watches with frustration.

‘How is it you do it ten times better? Its not fair,’ she says. Joanie makes a scoffing sound but she’s grinning like Donna’s just pulled the neatest party trick.

‘Look what Cam made me for the plane,’ Joanie says and thrusts a tape into Donna’s hands. She turns it over. _Lots of Love From Queen Big Dick_ is written in Cameron’s scrawl across the spine and Donna makes a choking sound. ‘That’s a private joke,’ says Joanie and snatches the cassette back. ‘But it’s got some really cool stuff.’

Donna looks at Cam, feeling the glow of Joanie’s love as she grins and raises an eyebrow _(Queen Big Dick?)_. Cameron groans and covers her eyes. Better than Paris for sure. 

 

***

 

The mirror is his best way of reminding himself that pieces of him are still intact. 

Gordon lifts his left arm and drops it back to his side, his reflection does the same — but it’s as if some fragmented version of him standing a foot to his left is putting in the work. He sighs in frustration.

Joe sticks his head around the door. ‘What’s up?’

‘Put your hand right here,’ says Gordon, guiding him to his side. Joe puts his palm over the spot: his hand is so big he spans the skin easily, fingers lined up with the indents of Gordon’s ribcage. ‘See, I can’t feel that,’ Gordon says but it’s not quite true: he feels something. For starters, his heart has leapt into action like he’s doing an a-hundred-metre-dash. 

Joe removes his hand and pats him on the shoulder instead. Gordon swallows. 

It’s only when Joe is out of the room that he realises that he’s got the beginnings of a hard-on pressing against his sweatpants, and this hits him like an electric shock. He had thought, maybe, that the stroke had killed those bits of grey matter but _apparently_ _not_ because his brain is sending signals to his dick loud and clear — fuck, he should call his doctor…but then again the idea of having to explain the cause of this minor miracle draws him up short. 

‘Oh shit,’ he whispers to himself. 

 

***

 

Cameron falls head first into Donna’s pool, which has to be a metaphor for something — but then again, she likes to think she has more class than that. Or maybe not.

 

***

 

‘Hey, do you remember Renée, that music major I was friends with in sophomore year?’ asks Donna, and she must still be riding the high of her shared idea with Cameron, because why else would she bring this up with her ex-husband in the Dos Gatos café over casual brunch? Cameron’s still in Florida so Gordon will have to do.

Gordon frowns slightly. ‘That blonde chick that only played double bass because she was like, six foot four or something?’ 

‘No, that was Hanna,’ says Donna, stifling her exasperation. ‘Renée, you know, people gave her shit all the time because her mom was Vietnamese?’ She laughs as Gordon’s concentration clears and he cries ‘Clarinet Girl!’ 

‘Yes, clarinet girl! I always wish I hadn’t lost contact with her after —’

‘—Being swept off your feet by me, yeah, I know, but it’s not like you could have resisted my raw power. Sorry, _Renée_.’ He’s laughing, which is a bit unfair because she didn’t laugh at _him_ when he pulled out a straw to drink his beer (so what if it’s for ‘medical purposes’, he still looks like a five-year-old sipping an illegal milkshake) so she says, a little bluntly:

‘I liked her. Like, really liked her, but I never did anything because who wants to live out _that_ cliché a month before final hand-in?’ When she meets his eye he has an expression that she can’t read; the nervousness bubbles up inside her like fizzing wine and she takes another sip of water to busy herself. 

The fingers of his left hand are tapping out some spasmodic rhythm as he says, out of the blue, ‘Remember when we all got pretty high and played that stupid game, what is it, truth or dare?’ This is a safe topic. She nods. ‘And Sandra made me make out with Andy Guiterres?’

This is unexpected but she’s grateful for the non-sequitur. ’Jesus, that was the worst kiss ever!’ she says and he recoils in mock affront. ‘I honestly think I put off dating you because of how terrible it was, the second-hand awkwardness would just loom out of nowhere every time you looked set to make a move.’

‘Gee thanks, it wasn’t _that_ bad…Okay, it was pretty bad. So bad we had a do-over when we got back to Andy’s dorm.’ She blinks in surprise and he goes on, a bit too casually, ‘I can’t remember but I think he came out after graduation?’ 

They’re dancing around the edge of something but neither of them wants to say it. 

Donna looks at her once-husband and a swell of affection calms her anxious thoughts: he is trying to acknowledge that he has heard her, in his own way. There’s a pause as Gordon fiddles with the label of his beer and Donna takes a few deep breaths, and then he says, ‘So tell me about this idea, between you and Cam. You sounded pretty excited.’ 

Donna seizes on the opportunity to change the subject like a starving dog seizing a bone. It’s what she really wants to talk about, after all. The idea _(Cam)._

 

***

 

Haley reaches the phone first. ‘Dad, it’s Uncle Henry!’ she bellows down the hall. Joe sticks his head out from his room and she waves at him. ‘Can you tell dad to get the phone in his room?’ 

Joe disappears and then there’s a click on the other end of the line. ‘Okay Haley, I’ve got it, thanks,’ her dad says. He sounds tired.She feels a surge of guilt; she should have told Uncle Henry to get stuffed and let his brother rest but it’s too late for that now. 

The microwave beeps and she remembers her hot chocolate. On impulse she makes another one and carries it down the hall, pausing outside her dad’s room. He’s talking, tone familiar from all those terrible arguments with her mom before the divorce: frustration mixed with anger. ‘Jesus, Henry,’ he says as she pushes the door open. ‘It’s great that you want to get sober, but do have any idea how much those kind of places _cost?_ ’ He doesn’t notice her at first from where he’s facing the window. Holds himself differently nowadays — stiff on one side. ‘You can’t just call whenever you need the money.’

He turns then and sees her, but he’s not really _seeing_ her. Still, a distracted smile crosses his face as she holds out the hot chocolate. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ he says, rolling his eyes at her. Haley makes for the door after depositing the mug, but her dad catches her unawares and plants an exaggerated kiss on her forehead. She ducks under the tangled phone cord to make her escape, pulls a grimace at his thumbs up. He’s smiling as he says, ‘Look, I’ve still got hospital bills to pay but if you send me the details I’ll see about getting you through your first month.’ There’s a pause. ‘I had a _stroke_ , Henry.’

Haley shuts the door and waits. 

‘Well maybe I’d have brung it up, y’know, _if you ever called_. When was the last time we talked, Dad’s funeral?’ 

She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, and she certainly doesn’t mean to get caught but then Joe walks out from the sitting room and sees her standing there with her ear practically up against the door. Haley can’t think of what to say, so she half-jokes, ‘I hope Joanie and I never end up like Dad and Uncle Henry.’

Something like sadness flashes across his face but she must have imagined it; he looks nothing if not calm and attentive as he says, ‘I don’t know what it’s like to have siblings but I do know you’re lucky to have a sister like Joanie. Anyone can see you guys are close, even if she can be…’

‘A jerk?’ says Haley, giggling.

He shrugs, trying to keep his professional manner but she can see the grin in his eyes. ‘Maybe. You can’t control how the other person acts but you _can_ control how you act, how much you put into it. It’s a balance.’ 

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Haley thinks about Joe and Cameron; of Dad and her Mom, Dad and Uncle Henry. It’s weird, but as she look as Joe it strikes her that he and Cameron have a greater presence in her life than her own uncle — especially in the last year when her parents needed them most. When Haley needed them most. ‘Family’s family, you know?’ she says, and she hopes that he understands that what she means as she says it. He’s _is_ family.

 

***

 

Cameron whoops and leans out as far over the waves as she can without getting soaked through with sea-spray. All those times Bos offered to take her out on his boat she never knew it could be like this. ‘Full speed ahead!’ she yells over her shoulder, and she hears Bos chuckle over the sound of the engine. The wind is whipping her hair and she wants to laugh with the sheer exhilaration of it all but then they’re slowing, slowing to a halt until they’re just bobbing in the vast expanse of water.

Bos steps out from the controls and pulls his sweater tighter around him. ‘Shee- _it_ , I don’t know what I expected taking a ride on New Year’s Day but this is cold. Damn!’ he says, rubbing his hands like some poor imitation of the Little Matchstick Girl. ‘Don’t see how you’re not frozen to death.’

He pops open the cooler and hands her a beer. She grins, looks down at the waves below. ‘You ever swim out here? I heard it’s a New Year tradition down at the bay.’

Bos swigs from his bottle. ‘It’s a strong conviction of mine that the only reason to take that particular plunge is if you’re escaping a certain island prison,’ he says. ‘And even then, I hear the odds aren’t all that great.’ He tugs at his beard and looks at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Cam, forgive me, but do you even know how?’

It’s not an unfair question; it was one of those skills (like socialising and knowing what to do with your mom’s makeup) that passed her by as a kid. ‘I’m learning. Donna’s got a pool.’

‘Good for you. Still, that’s a drop in the ocean compared to…the actual ocean.’

‘What’s the point in wearing this stupid life-vest if you never get wet?’ cries Cameron. ‘Come on, you know you want to.’ All the heckling and waggling of eyebrows in the world pale at his venerable stubbornness. 

‘Darlin’, you know I’d just love to, but my darn heart just might let out. Such a pity,’ he says, regret nowhere to be seen in his smug grin. ‘Unless you’re aiming to finish me off, that is.’

‘Coward.’ 

‘Just ain’t stupid,’ Bos says. Casting an eye out at the water. ‘So, make any resolutions this year?’

Cameron stands up and stretches her arms out to the pale grey sky, rangy and filled with a strange kind of joy. ‘Just one,’ she says, thinking of Donna. ‘Take the plunge.’

And she jumps.

 

***

 

‘What the hell?’ says Gordon and for a moment Joe thinks he’s overreacting to the suggestion that they rent something more intellectually stimulating than _Speed,_ but that’s not it. Gordon’s progress has improved in the last few months but Joe doesn’t want them to get complacent; he insists on trips out, practice, repetition — and their weekly trip to Blockbuster fulfils all of these criteria. Maybe he’s pushing it though, because Gordon is standing frozen in one of the aisles staring up at the corner TV with a stricken expression.

‘They don’t let us play anything higher than PG,’ shrugs the store clerk apologetically in reference to the cartoon currently playing on the screen, but Joe is on the move thinking, _seizure_ , thinking _follow up stroke_. He grips Gordon by the arms but the other man’s gaze is miles away, fixed and creased in pain. Baby Dumbo’s mother is singing a lullaby, and sure, it’s _sad_ , but he can see no reason for such a dramatic reaction. 

‘Turn it off,’ hisses Joe as he turns back to Gordon. He’s breathing in hitching gasps, but that brings Cameron’s panic attacks to mind more than anything else. ‘Hey, Gordon, breathe with me. It’s okay.’ Involuntary tears are sliding down Gordon’s face as he sinks to the ground against one of the video racks. Joe kneels with him and tries to talk him through it but for all his talk, he doesn’t know what to do and it scares him. 

‘Oh my God is he okay?’ says the store clerk, just a kid older than Joanie. Gordon has a death grip on Joe’s hand and Joe nearly misses him whisper, ‘Sing something. Anything.’ A deep breath. ‘Not fucking Disney.’

Of course then that’s all Joe can think of, and he panics. Leaps up, runs around to the CD racks and grabs an album. The display player sucks the disc in and he skips ahead, cranks up the volume and dashes back to Gordon. As the guitar kicks in he tries to sing along ( _They paved paradise and put up a parking lot)_ but he doesn’t really get into the song until the second verse. He mumbles along, _Don’t it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?_ and to his surprise the store girl joins in and then they’re both singing, _They paved par-a-dise and put up a parking lot!_

Gordon lifts his head and stares at them both, red-faced and breathless, a little incredulous, and laughs. He laughs as Joe and the Blockbuster clerk sing, the girl’s voice tripping the high notes over Joe’s tuneless humming, and they keep singing right up until the end where Joni goes and pitches her voice all over the place. ‘Oh. My. God,’ Gordon gasps, tears shining on his cheeks. ‘You two would make _the worst_ angels of death.’ 

This sounds concerning but Joe’s too relieved in the moment to worry about cryptic backhanded compliments. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, hand on Gordon’s chest. 

Gordon nods. ‘Hit me out of nowhere,’ he says, and squints up at the store clerk. ‘You have a lovely voice.’ The girl grins shyly and moves back to the counter, leaving them taking up most of the international cinema aisle. Gordon hunched and trembling. ’Thought I was fucking dying all over again. Fucking Dumbo,’ he mutters. ‘Not ready to hear that again in a hurry.’

‘Is that a reference to our flawless performance?’ asks Joe. It comes out glib but he has no idea what Gordon’s talking about. 

‘Didn’t take you for a Joni Mitchell fan,’ Gordon says, mouth quirking up as he looks at Joe. ‘Who knew, Joe MacMillian has a folksy side.’ 

Joe rubs his chin and imagines the dark inky spread of a city skyline. ‘I don’t know, the way she looks on the album cover for _Blue_ always reminded me of my mom,’ he admits and Gordon’s grin softens slightly. ‘Did you know she had polio when she was nine? I heard that somewhere and I guess me and Joni have been on and off since then.’ 

The look Gordon is giving him is unreadable. Then he leans forwards and kisses Joe on the cheek, just above the mouth; Joe tastes salt water and spearmint and feels the drag of faint stubble. It’s not like him to be thrown off balance but for once Gordon has succeeded in doing something so uncharacteristic that he doesn’t know what to do except take a half-step back — and nearly collides with the French New Wave display. 

Gordon leans back and closes his eyes. ‘Get that German film if you want, _Wings of Passion_ or whatever, I’m still sticking with _Tombstone_. Now give me a hand up, would you Joe?’

 

***

 

From the intermittent cries of _motherfucker!_ from Cam’s room, it’s clear that she’s hit a dead patch developing the new Phoenix pages — either that or she’s getting crushed in a Doom II deathmatch.

‘Working hard, hmm?’ Donna says sticking her head around the door, and Cam starts guiltily from where she’s tugging the computer from its cabling. 

‘Modem-to-modem’s not cutting it,’ she says, grimacing. ‘I’ve got to go over there.’ She stops unplugging the speaker so as to grab the ham mic and broadcast threateningly, ‘20 minutes and I’m coming to kick your ass, fucker.’

_‘Save that anger for the demon spawn, Howe,_ ’ crackles the radio in response. 

Donna tries not to laugh at the irate expression on Cam’s face. ‘Is Gordon that good?’ she asks, eyebrows raised. Cameron hefts the entire monitor on her hip and lets out a grunt of frustration. 

‘I think the violence is warping his brain,’ says Cam confidentially. ‘Besides, I need to get un-stuck. And if that happens to involve _accidentally_ fragging Gordon while blasting the shit out of an army of pixelated morons, so be it. Hey, you don’t have to do that -’ Donna has moved into the room and is lifting the system unit with both hands, knees bent.

‘I need my best and only coder back in fighting form,’ Donna points out as they both carry the respective machinery to Cameron’s truck. ‘Just take comfort in the fact that you can kick Gordon’s ass in real life any day.’

‘Oh boy, beating up your physically debilitated nerd ex-husband. Why haven’t I thought of that before?’

Donna snorts. ‘There’s got to be other ways for you to get un-stuck. I’ll distract you next time if you want, just know I can’t play Doom to save my life,’ she says, and it’s a perfectly genuine comment but Cameron’s face flushes beet red as she says it and she doesn’t know why there’s a sudden tension in the air like heavy warmth before lightning-storm. 

‘Yeah, I’d like that,’ Cameron says awkwardly, eyes not quite meeting Donna’s as she clambers into the truck cab. ‘But for now, I’ve got cyberdemons to kill. _I’ll be back_.’

 

***

 

A singular advantage to cognitive disruption is that Joe reads to him when the words start swimming in front of his eyes like so much alphabet soup. It starts in the hospital, continues from there. Voice measured, a familiar lure, bringing life to stories chosen by random from a section of what Gordon suspects are Joe’s favourite books. 

But because Joe is Joe, this doesn’t come without cost. ‘Just read out a few lines,’ he insists, trying to force Gordon into training his stubborn brain matter back into shape. Interrupting the flow of the words to advance Gordon’s halting efforts. It’s humiliating. But Joe’s tone is so teacherly and logical that argument is a futile thing. 

_'“He screamed very loudly -- the food must have done_ something _for him, because he could not remember being able to scream so loudly since he had emerged from the dark cloud,"’_ Gordon reads, squinting. He’s given up on contacts recently and the glasses he’s wearing have old lenses. _'_ " _He sensed her standing just outside the bedroom door in the hallway for a long time before she actually came in, immobile, turned off, unplugged —'_

He grits his teeth and stops. ‘This is driving me crazy,’ he says, sitting back with the book clenched in his hands. It’s been two weeks since the incident at Blockbuster and his concentration can’t take the strain.

Joe regards mildly him from the other end of the sofa. ‘The words will come, you just need practice,’ he says, master of zen with his baggy sweater and bare feet curled beneath him. ‘Go on.’

Gordon closes the book and rounds on Joe. ‘I’m not talking about goddamn Stephen King,’ he says, feeling his voice shake. ‘What’s infuriating is we’re acting like everything’s normal when it’s not. I know you’ve been avoiding me.’ It’s true, Joe’s been gone three evenings out of five this past week and his manner is studiously professional. ‘I’m sorry I planted one on you in the fucking video store. It was a mistake, okay?’

Joe’s expression slackens, and then he says with maddening courtesy, ‘I’m happy to discuss whatever you need to get off your chest.’ It reminds Gordon of everything he hated about the therapy groups in Dallas; he must be actively glowering because some of the calm slips from Joe’s voice. He sounds uncertain. ‘Look, you surprised me. I put it down to a reactive act; people do all kinds of out-of-character things when stressed, highly emotional.’ Joe frowns. ‘I thought you’d be happier not bringing it up.’ 

‘Thanks for asking me about that,’ Gordon deadpans. Joe’s right of course: previous versions of Gordon would be more than happy to deny kissing his male best friend after having a very public panic attack — but those versions would also deny _wanting_ to kiss Joe as well, which his current self can’t bring himself to do. He’s on his feet now, angry. ‘So, it’s the brain damage then. You’d tell me if I tried to kiss, I don’t know, any other hapless men in my path while too fucked to know better?’

Joe looks like Gordon’s a hair-trigger away from having a full mental break. ‘It’s just I’ve never gotten the impression before that you’re…particularly comfortable with that sort of thing.’ 

‘Jesus, Joe,’ says Gordon, hating how the awkward quaver in his voice proves Joe’s point. He props his hands on his hips. There’s a knot twisting his stomach; he wishes Joe would quit worrying about upsetting him and just get it over with: death by embarrassment is inevitable. ‘I’m not comfortable with any of this! It’s not about _me_ anyway.’

‘Then what are we really talking about?’

He has always envied Joe’s ease, his confidence, his sexual surety: a man of action rather than one who wastes time stumbling over words. But it strikes him that he needs to say what it is he’s been struggling with these past months — and of all the versions of Joe, this is the one most suited to listen. 

Gordon swallows. ‘You asked me before what I was excited about. And I know that shit has gone off the charts since then but my answer’s still the same. _I like being your partner, Joe._ I mean, if you were to sit down right now and pitch me some wild new thing I’d jump on it. Even though I’m exhausted with chasing the horizon, I’d do it because we’re a good team. We’re great, actually. And I’m terrified of ruining what we’ve got but there’s been this voice in my head the past few months saying, ‘What if it could always be like this, without having to break our backs over something that never fucking lasts?’’

He finishes and can’t bring himself to look at Joe, wonders if Joe is staring at him the way Gordon stares at letters on a page refusing to string themselves into words because nothing he just said made a lick of sense. There’s a blazing heat in his eyes.

Joe says, ‘Gordon,’ like he doesn’t know what else to say, and Gordon fucking flees the room because he just spilled his guts and can’t bring himself to deal with all the shit; in short, he’s a coward. 

It takes him ten minutes but he finally finds the stash of pot he knows Joanie has in her room and things start to take on a less apocalyptic meaning. Sure, he’s just alienated his best friend in the world but the high is pretty good, all things considered: it takes the edge off the pain in his hands and the panic in his head and leaves him strung out on Joanie’s bed staring up at the popcorn plaster of the ceiling. 

Christ, he should have just blamed it on his brain, Joe tried giving him the out after all— _Sorry Joe, I was hallucinating and thought you were Donna from more amorous years. Forgive me._ He snorts to himself and sinks deeper into Joanie’s pillows. 

The weed must be more potent than he thought, because next thing he knows it’s half-dark and he’s drooling. He wakes himself up from it. The minutes drag on and he thinks he’s just drifting back into the clutches of sleep when the door creaks open. Gordon contemplates pretending to be unconscious but he likes to think he has an ounce of self-respect. ‘Hey,’ he croaks. 

Joe’s figure just stands in the doorway. The longer it goes on the more Gordon can’t help but imagine every horror film he’s ever seen, but then Joe’s voice says, low and serious, ‘I haven’t been avoiding you.’ 

‘Huh?’ says Gordon, half-sitting up. Its not the opener he thought Joe would go for and it feels like he’s still somewhat stoned. 

‘I’m not avoiding you. I’ve started taking part-time classes at Stanford. English with teacher education; that’s why I’ve been out in the evenings.’ Joe says this confessionally, like it’s on par with admitting great feeling for one’s business partner of over ten years.

There’s a pause. ‘…Okay. That’s great, right?’ says Gordon. 

Joe steps into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. ‘You were talking about our tendency for recursion,’ he says, serious, and what little light is in the room catches on his glasses in a blank flash. ‘That’s why I’m doing something different. I want different. I don’t think I have the energy for the next big thing anymore.’

‘I guess we’re both tired of the _t_ _ry, create, fuck up and fail, rinse and repeat_ business model,’ says Gordon, trying for a laugh but Joe is rock-steady at his side. ‘It’s weird, but I can see you teaching. You’ll be good.’

‘I’ve never entertained the possibility of difference for so long,’ Joe says. Gordon lies back down on the bed so he won’t have to see the pain twisting Joe’s face, his tight shoulders. Pre-empting the words. ‘It’s like Sisyphus pushing his boulder uphill — just as I think _maybe this time things will work out;_ it all comes crashing down. Always.’ He swallows, then says, very gently. ‘Every man I’ve ever gotten close to has died, one way or the other.’

Gordon makes a noise in his throat. Joe slowly lowers himself so that they’re both lying side by side in the semi-darkness, looking up at nothing. ‘Y’know what they say about correlation and causation,’ Gordon points out. He realises he knows so little about so much of Joe’s life, the funerals he’s been to. The awful loss. 

‘I’m aware.’

‘I didn’t think about it from your side of things. Shit, Joe, I needed to say something _because_ I figured my life expectancy is a crapshoot, but when you say it like that…If you need to leave, you should leave.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not fair. I could drop dead tomorrow.’ He can hear the pull of Joe’s breath and the rise and fall of his own chest; talk of death an outsider to this moment. But he knows his words could come to pass and he’s suddenly worried that he’s made a huge mistake.

Joe’s voice rumbles beside him, contemplative. ‘…I think that might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.’

Gordon sits up, frowning. ‘Joe, listen —’

But he loses the words, because Joe has leaned over and is kissing him full on the mouth, firm and utterly silencing. Thumb dragging the full incline of his cheekbone, nose pressing against his own and Gordon can’t think of anything except kissing Joe back. When they break apart Joe’s face is inches from his own and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest — not set to stop anytime soon.

‘It’s not about the destination,’ Joe whispers. ‘It’s about how it feels.’

 

***

 

The fact that both her parents are happy sneaks up on Haley; she can’t remember the two of them existing on the same level since well before the divorce. But they’re happy. So is she. 

And if the reason is right before her nose, well, it doesn’t do to question a good thing. 

 

***

 

‘I’m not gay,’ Gordon points out one day, even though he thinks that the majority of people would class what they’re doing as pretty gay. Joe pauses to shoot him an exasperated look. 

‘Neither am I, remember?’ he says dryly, ‘Cameron and I had a thing, you might have missed it,’ and Gordon goes _oh yeah, that,_ just as Joe does something with his hands that makes the whole conversation a blip on the face of current pressing agendas. It doesn’t matter one bit.

 

***

 

‘So it’ll be a year since the stroke next week,’ says Donna. Cameron flips the cap of her beer into the long grass, deep in thought as she leans back on the legs of her camping chair and takes in the greenery surrounding the Airstream. Springtime finally in full growth. 

‘We should do something,’ she finally says. ‘Have them over for dinner. We have lots to talk about after all.’

Donna stares at her. ‘You’d do that, even with…Joe? It’s still hard for you to be around each other, I can see that.’

Cameron blinks and her eyes are luminous for a moment in the slanting afternoon light. ‘I think it’s more important for us all to be together, on _that_ day. I’m not the centre of the universe, Donna.’ Her brown hair shines auburn as the sun sets and Donna nods, accepting her words.

She wants to say, _You’re pretty darn close though_ , but that’s cheesy even for her tastes. Instead she sits, grateful for the sunset and her partner and all the little bits in between.

 

***

 

Gordon bumps his hip against Joe as they wait on Donna’s doorstep. ‘You okay?’ 

Joe got a haircut the other week, he looks trim and handsome but his eyes are far away behind the sheen of his glasses. He grunts, says, ‘Last time I was here Donna and I had a huge fight, and then…well, we got the call about you. It’s just odd, that’s all.’ 

‘You’re telling me,’ Gordon replies, frowning at the image of Joe and Donna duking it out on her front lawn. ‘Run me through how we’re going to tell them about us, exactly?’

Joe chuckles and claps him on the shoulder, mouth open to say something wise — and then Haley yanks open the door. ‘Hi dad, hi Joe,’ she says, beaming. ‘I think Cameron set the kitchen on fire earlier but we’re all good now…hope you like burnt risotto!’

‘Hey!’ Cameron yells from the kitchen. ‘I heard that! And there were no actual flames, everything’s fine.’

Gordon exchanges a look of trepidation with Joe as they follow Haley into the house. Donna is putting down the last few pieces of cutlery, and apart from the flyaway hair damp on her forehead from the hot stove she is made up and dressed to kill. ‘I put Cameron in charge of stirring,’ she says distractedly, ‘But there may have been some casualties.’ 

‘Wow, you look great,’ says Gordon, not meaning to sound so surprised but he and Joe came in normal clothes; she looks ready to take on an investor meeting. 

‘Hey, so do you. Upright and everything,’ she says in reply to Gordon’s comment, kisses him on the cheek. She accepts Joe’s wine offering gracefully and then has to dash off to save the dinner from Cameron’s clutches.

Haley grins. ‘They’ve been like this all day,’ she confides. Joe’s shoulders lower a little as she orders him to his seat, and as they chat about Haley’s schoolwork and Joanie’s recent phone calls he visibly relaxes, like he’s realised that neither Cameron nor Donna are about to jump out and bludgeon him with past failures.

Despite the dire warnings the risotto tastes amazing. Donna serves it up with steaming chunks of squash and mushroom, with extra parmesan, and there are only a few burnt bits to Cameron’s credit. ‘I put what felt like an entire bottle of wine in there,’ Donna says doubtfully, ‘Joe might have to walk it off before driving but at least the rest of us are fine.’

‘Underage daughter here,’ reminds Haley, helping herself to more cheese as Cameron laughs. They dig in, conversation bouncing from one trivial topic to another until they get around to the launch of Phoenix. Cameron and Donna light up at the opportunity to describe the challenges and thrills of their new venture; it’s great to see them as a united front again as in the best days at Mutiny.

‘Mostly we’re just excited,’ Donna admits. ‘We’re making sure that things go differently this time - it’s a change for us both, but it’s good. This time last year I never thought things would turn out the way they have.’ 

Gordon feels Joe shift at his side. This is it. ‘I’d like to say something,’ Joe says, leaning in and adjusting his glasses. ‘To expand on what you just said, if you’ll bear with me?’ 

‘Go ahead,’ Donna says courteously, and Gordon’s heart starts to beat out a rhythm to rival Tito Puente.

‘We can all agree there’s been a lot of change in the past year,’ says Joe. It’s hard to tell if he’s practiced this or not, but then again most of what Joe says sounds practiced. ‘That much is obvious. It’s been a wake-up call for everyone, putting things into perspective: what we want, what’s really important.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Gordon says wryly. He knows Joe is trying to build up to some kind of graceful segue into _By the way, Gordon and I are fucking!_ so they can all enjoy _that_ image over dessert. Well, he knows Joe has a better way with words but that doesn’t stop his palms from sweating under the table. He reaches out and grips Joe’s knee. 

‘Um, it’s especially important to acknowledge that tonight, I think,’ says Joe, not stalling exactly but close to it. His voice is measured and constrained; he sounds like he’s giving a mildly interesting dinnertime lecture. Gordon restrains the urge to claw out his own eardrums rather than listen a second longer. ‘Acknowledging how much certain people mean to us at this new chapter in our lives…’

Gordon is about to open his mouth and just go for it — but then the conversation gets completely derailed.

‘Alright, alright, you got us! We’re dating, big deal,’ cries Cameron, flinging her hands up and glaring at Joe like’s been personally accusing her of multiple crimes. ‘Donna and I were going to tell you tonight but you had to be all weird about it.’

Gordon chokes on his drink. _‘What?’_

It’s the kind of outburst that _he_ would have made back in the Mutiny days; they all stare at Cameron (Donna included) like she’s just turned into a raving lunatic. She glowers back, hunched in a wildly defensive posture over her salad. ‘It’s stupid, anyway, like what are they going to do about it?’

‘Cam…’ Donna says, putting her hand on Cameron’s forearm.

Joe speaks first. ‘How long?’ he asks, diplomatic and interested like they’ve just moved the dinner conversation from politics to financial quarterlies.

‘Oh, uh, since the New Year,’ says Donna with a pinched smile. Haley makes a small noise, eyes darting between Cam and her mother like she’s trying to draw a thousand conclusions at once.

The part of Gordon’s brain that isn’t frozen with surprise thinks, _Of course…Of course, Cameron and Donna._ It had been obvious for so long but he’s been so blinded by his own minor and major life-altering issues that he’s missed their reconnection blossoming into something else. Joe has always drawn him into tunnel-vision.

Cameron is knotting her hands on the tablecloth and Donna has an expression of pained joviality pasted on straight out of a catalogue. It’s agonising. He can’t help it, he starts to laugh and once he starts he can’t stop. Donna shoots him a _look_ which would have had him sleeping on the couch years ago and hisses, ‘Oh my God, Gordon, do _not_ be a child about this.’ 

Joe is rubbing his temples like he’s getting a killer headache; Cameron stares at Gordon, appalled, eyes practically bursting out of her head. ‘No, no,’ he insists, snickering, ‘It’s just funny…Joe and I were going to tell you guys tonight that _we’re_ together. You beat us to it.’ 

It’s their turn to be baffled. ‘I’m sorry, what?’ says Donna, with a slight _Does-Not-Compute_ double take. Haley looks like her brain will explode at any new revelation; she appears to be on tenterhooks, glancing around as if Bos and Diane might burst out from the curtains at any second and announce that they are, in fact, gay and proud.

‘Together like…’ Cameron stops herself in time but it’s clear she was about to make a barely censored hand gesture. ‘Are you serious?’ 

Joe coughs, embarrassed on everyone’s behalf. ‘Seriously. I can, uh, see that this is new territory for most of us to deal with, but perhaps we can move on for now and drink to each other’s health? This is going downhill fast.’

_‘Please,’_ says Donna, raising her glass. They all fumble for their respective drinks— until Haley suddenly stands up and fixes them with a wild-eyed stare down the table. ‘Is this because of me?’ she says, totally bewildered. ‘Have I turned everyone gay?’

There’s a long pause. Gordon restrains his laughter but he can see where she’s coming from: business as normal, then she officially comes out and both her parents decide to join the pride parade. Hell, _he_ gets confused if he thinks about it too long. ‘Haley, baby, no,’ says Donna. ‘I know it’s…weird and unexpected, but it nothing to do with you.’

‘It just sort of happened,’ says Cameron, and Haley slowly sits down. ‘I mean, it felt natural, you know? We didn’t have to have a big long discussion about what to call it — well, _some_ of us didn’t,’ she finishes, and shoots a sharp grin at Donna.

Gordon reaches out and squeezes Haley’s slack hand. ‘It’s okay if you’re weirded out. You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.’ She squeezes back and nods. ‘Although, if you tell Joanie exactly how this went down we _may_ have to kill you.’

Haley stares at him for a moment. ‘ _I_ didn’t get a Coming Out dinner,’ she says, but it’s a good-natured complaint and they break into laughter, the absurdity of the situation crashing home. 

Donna says, ‘Sweetie, you can have all the Coming Out dinners you want,’ and Haley snorts into her empty bowl. Cameron leaps up to get dessert, face still bright red with embarrassment, and a few moments later she deposits a chocolate monstrosity onto the table with a half-hearted flourish.

‘Happy Non-Deathday!’ she mutters, ‘Or is this a coming out cake now? Sorry Gordon, the cake’s gay.’

‘Can’t complain,’ he says graciously. They struggle through the dessert with over-full stomachs (death by chocolate might kill him after all). It’s a strange end to a strange evening but it feels right, the five of them gathered in mildly hysterical laughter like an advertisement for a new liberal future— _nuclear family found dead in Southern California!_

It’s Haley who remembers the toast. ‘Okay,’ she says getting to her feet and holding up her glass, ‘Um, I guess it only makes sense if I get to make the speech? Sorry mom.’ Donna half-covers her face as their brilliant daughter continues on, ‘This has been the weirdest night ever but I’m so, so happy for you guys. It’s like Joe was saying about change? It can be bad but it’s also really good,— like a reminder to hold on to the people you’ve got even harder. And if nothing had changed, Joe and Cam wouldn’t have become part of our family, so, good job dad? Basically, in conclusion: I love you all. Uh, congrats.’

Donna makes a stifled sobbing noise as Haley holds out her glass; even Cameron looks kind of weepy. Joe beams like Haley’s just won a Nobel prize as he clinks his wineglass to hers. Gordon finds his own voice cracking as he says, ‘That was perfect, bug.’ Haley flushes a deep red as she looks back at the adults, as if the force of their palpable love and admiration is too strong to look at.

‘Cool,’ she says, ‘So, I’m going to go ring Joanie now.’ She sprints upstairs, feet banging on the treads. The room settles into a kind of quiet lull in her absence, everything said that needs to be said.

Joe takes Gordon’s hand under the table and rubs his knuckles. ‘She’s an amazing kid,’ he says, slightly awed and the rest of them make noises of assent. Haley _is_ amazing. Gordon winks at Donna across the table and the look she gives him in return is both fond and exasperated all at once.

‘I think that went well, don’t you?’ says Cam.

 

 

 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Instead of writing this, I spent a lot of time trying to download Doom on my laptop...for research purposes. It's pretty fun, and like Cam, I keep dying - check it out if you can! It's five quid on Steam and works on mac with some finagling.
> 
> \- The chicken marbella is absolutely a reference to randomizer's [Fade Into You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477617/chapters/30901587) \- if I didn't focus on Cam/Donna as much it's because it's been done so well before in that fic! 
> 
> \- [Big Yellow Taxi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94bdMSCdw20) is a bop. I cannot attest its success in calming panic attacks, however.
> 
> \- I didn't realise that the 'Haley Mine' song was from Dumbo for an embarrassingly long time so Gordon getting blindsided by the movie is really me, blindsided.
> 
> \- Joe is reading Gordon _Misery_ by Stephen King (probably a pointed gift from Cameron)
> 
> The Halt fandom is pretty small so if this made you feel a fraction of the fondness I have for the characters please leave a comment :)


End file.
